


Never to Return

by snuffymcsnuff



Category: Pyre - Fandom
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Nonbinary Character, basically my thoughts on some of the more painful parts of Pyre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 03:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11706141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuffymcsnuff/pseuds/snuffymcsnuff
Summary: The Reader struggles with some realizations brought on by everyone's favorite party crasher, Volfred Sandalwood. And then gets real sad about the liberation rites.





	Never to Return

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I love every single person in Pyre, but I have a soft spot for Hedwyn, thus why this is so Hedwyn-centric. Got desperate enough for ship fics to write my own basically.

For all the pain they had known since being cast into exile, their life and even memories robbed out from under them as it were, none of it could compare to this.

A few, brief parting words and they come undone.

It is Volfred’s burden to bear witness to their undoing, the way their seams slowly come apart with each word of his almost cruelly casual dismissal. Could he even tell, they wondered later, the man’s level, steely gaze giving nothing away. If he knew, did he care at all?

The words flood their brain. It would be a lie to say that they’d expected this. That they’d known all along that their role in all of this was to get left behind.

And now here stands this stranger, nonchalantly shattering even that notion. All this time, they’d been a mere _passenger_.

A pretender to the throne that Volfred is now eyeing, comfortable in his right to put a few sol in the palm of their hand and send them on their merry way.

Comfortable suggesting that they simply... find another purpose.

A volley of desperate protests lie bubbling just beneath their tongue, but all they manage to utter is a quiet, _But where would I go?_

Volfred pauses for a minute, pipe perched on the edge of his teeth. He seems taken aback by the question.

“I… do not presume to know, my dear. I believe you’ve made acquaintances along your journey, yes?”

 _Yes, the ones you’re asking me to leave_ , they want to say. They do not.

“I… I would see this journey through, if you don’t mind. The Nightwings… I owe them my life.”

“Ah, indeed?” Volfred hums, bemused. “I do not mind, but know that you are not obliged to stay. I suppose then that you would want to continue conducting the rites as well?”

“I would,” the Reader says a little more firmly this time.

Volfred’s gaze feels like that of a judge, carefully considering every measure of their worth. The silence that follows their words seems to stretch on for an eternity.

“So be it then.”

A weight they had not noticed earlier lifts from their chest, lungs expanding in a quiet sigh of… relief? They are not sure.

They had delayed their dismissal, but for how long? More importantly, was this how the rest of them felt? Had they been waiting for their informant to take the reigns and only deigned to let a stranger guide them because it had been convenient?

As if on cue, Hedwyn appears in the wagon door. In his presence it suddenly hurts a lot more to consider that possibility.

He must sense that something is awry because his shoulders tense and he sidles up next to them, brows furrowing at the Sap.

“Is everything all right in here?”

Volfred waves his hand dismissally.

“I was merely letting your friend know that they are free to go, should they so choose.”

A shadow crosses Hedwyn’s eyes and the Reader knows in that instant that they been wrong to assume anything of the sort about him.

“You- what,” he starts, but is interrupted by the Sap as he tips his pipe at them with a sage nod and a small smile.

“And they _chose_ to _stay_. So no partings will be necessary for now.”

Hedwyn’s shoulders relax somewhat but his brows stay set in a firm, determined frown.

“No, they won’t. We are not leaving without them.”

And for all the pain they had known since being cast into exile, this one moment stands out to them as the one that made it all worth it.

 

\------------------------------------

 

There’s nothing the Reader wants less than to have to say goodbye.

Hedwyn is the first to go. The choice pains them immensely, but in their heart they know that it was not even a choice to begin with. If anyone truly deserves their freedom, it’s him.

Dressed all in white, he stands before them. Enlightened beyond measure, pardoned by the Scribes and gift-wrapped for liberation.

There is no denying it anymore, he is beautiful. The most beautiful sight they’ve ever laid eyes on.

And yet that beauty is marred by a frown as he reaches out a hand and puts it on their shoulder, a look of concerned curiosity crossing his features even as he stands ready to leave all of that doubt behind him.

His touch sears through their cloak, almost too much to bear.

“My friend, are you sure about this?”

Traitorous tears threaten to burst forth but they allay the flood for now. He does not know.

“A little too late for that now, isn’t it?” They manage to say, smiling as best they can.

Hedwyn looks lost and that alone is enough to breach the dam. The fissure starts off small, but soon the foundation crumbles too, and they start to sob openly, shoulders trembling under Hedwyn’s loose grasp.

The action startles him but instead of pulling away, he closes the distance between them. Had it been anyone else it would have been an intimidating gesture, his face a hair’s breadth from theirs all of a sudden. But Hedwyn does not cut an intimidating figure, eyes alight and mouth pulled into a small, lopsided smile.

Distracted by his cheek dimples, there’s a moment in which the Reader almost forgets that this is the last time they will ever see them again.

They sniffle as they’re pulled in for the hug, protests dying on their tongue. This, they won’t deny themselves at least.

If anything, they have to control the urge to bury their fingers into those robes and not let go.

“This was not how I expected our great escape to happen, but… do not fret, my friend. I will see you again in the Commonwealth. That is a promise I intend to keep.”

Either he truly does not know or he’s sparing them both the pain of acknowledgement.

Which one is worse, they wonder.

They do not correct him.

 

\------------------------------------

 

The tears on their cheeks have barely dried by the time they settle down in front of the Beyonder Crystal, hoping to the Scribes that its inhabitant won't turn them away.

“Sandra?”

Draped in emerald flame, the wraith greets them with the same wry smile as always.

“Ah, the lovely Reader. However may I be of assistance today?”

They scrabble for purchase in their mind. The last hour is a raw wound that bleeds into their thoughts, turning it all to static. But through the white noise, one question remains.

“Did I make the right choice?”

The light within the orb flickers in time with Sandra’s short, soft laugh.

“My dear, you are talking to someone who has spent almost a millennia locked away in a ceaseless void.”

“I know, but-”

"You gave him his freedom. A second chance. That, my dear Reader, is the _only_ choice.”

“I-... Yes. Of course.”

It doesn't _feel_ right but that is another matter altogether.

“… Besides, it's not like the boy possessed any special talent. A naive one such as he would not have lasted much longer in this,” she gestures vaguely around herself, “... _that_ environment, out there. Nasty place, the Downside. Much prefer it in here, of course. Or at least I tell myself as much, on behalf of my sanity.”

Ah, there is the Sandra that they know. Dry as ever. Talking to the wraith never fails to bring a smile to their face and despite the lingering pain they manage a small quirk of the lips.

“Am I to assume this means that you now fully understand the implications of the liberation rites?”

They sigh to which Sandra gives a solemn nod.

“Consider this my dear, at least you will still have a friend here who definitely isn't going anywhere if the last 837 years of entrapment is anything to go by.”

The reader's smile brightens a bit.

“I suppose that beats an eternity of isolation, yes.”

Sandra’s hearty laugh causes the orb to flicker once more. It is a sweet sound, sweeter than the countless times she has made light of her prison sentence in the past.

“I should hope so. Your company was a welcome change, would be a shame if the feeling was not mutual.”

“It is.”

They share a smile. “You’ll see, my dear, as I do. This won’t have to be the end. We’ll make do.”

And the Reader desperately wants to believe her.


End file.
